


The Different Empty Hearse

by infinityletters



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, smutifyousquinthardenough, some smut?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:29:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinityletters/pseuds/infinityletters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are about to die. Literally. They are about to die and Sherlock can't save them, not this time. Finally, the truth is revealed in the last minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Different Empty Hearse

**Author's Note:**

> How I saw this episode happen. Did it not happen like this? Whoops?

“It’s empty, there’s nothing.” John exclaimed, all the while pointing his flashlight around the compartment, training his eyes on every last inch of the place. 

“Isn’t there…” Sherlock whispered, obviously finding what he already knew was there. Turning around and pointing the light towards Sherlock, John saw what Sherlock had found. Pulling each sitting pillow up and looking downwards, he realized what it was. 

“No..” He whispered underneath his breath, it catching in disbelief and absolute horror at what they had walked into. Each pillow he pulled up contained a classic bomb with wires all leading to the center of the compartment. Never in his life had he wished death on someone, but at the moment it was all John could think about for Sherlock getting him back into this mess. 

“This is the bomb.” Sherlock stated, sure of himself and everything around him. Yet still, he found himself stumbling over the next few words. Sherlock may have no use for emotions, but his body betrayed him, stealing the razor sharp edge of fear and shoving it into his stomach.

“What?” John gasped, suddenly out of breath and it coming out in short ragged efforts. Looking from the bomb to the man in the long coat, he knew he was right, although he couldn’t hold back the disbelief clouding his mind, his every word drenched in sorrow and absolute fear.

“Its not carrying explosives.” Sherlock stated eagerly, now knowing what he was exactly up against as he lifted pillows after wretched pillow. “The whole compartment is the bomb.”

Both men started to turn up every pillow, and underneath each one, as if a present from the tooth fairy, a bomb stared back at them. Sherlock turned around, admiring yet despising the situation. How was he going to get John to safety after finding this many explosives on the compartment? How was he going to save John? He walked the length of the compartment, stumbling when he hit the center board. Of course, Sherlock thought. All of the pieces were finally coming together into one.

As Sherlock uncovered the detonator, the center of the entire bomb squad, John came over to look, as if to confirm that his life was really going to end today. John began breathing deep breaths, in, out, in, out; as if on some level that would calm down the situation like it did him. (It didn’t really.) 

“We need bomb disposal.” John spoke in a deep rushed, yet husk voice. 

“There may not be time for that now.” Sherlock replied, looking into John’s eyes, for the first time ever, praying that everything would be okay for John. 

“So what do we do?”

“I have no idea.” Sherlock stated in a matter of fact tone, scaring the living shit out of John. 

“We’ll think of something.” John said, meaning, Sherlock will think of something, he always does. 

“Why do you think I know what to do?”

“Because you’re Sherlock Holmes, you’re as clever as it gets.” 

“That doesn’t mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?”

“I wasn’t in bomb disposal I’m a bloody doctor.”

“And a soldier! As you keep reminding us all.”

“Can’t- Can’t we rip that timer off or something?”

“That would set it off.”

“You see! You know things!” John shouted, trying to calm himself but couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. He had a fiance to get back to, he had a life to get back to, and it was all ruined because of this one man, this one bloody man who knew more about him than his own bloody mother. Why did he bow down to every wish Sherlock commanded? 

With a sigh Sherlock turned, attempting to think a way out of this. Suddenly the lights turned on in the compartment. “My God!” John exclaimed, turning and seeming to kick himself over and over again for falling with this man, for falling for this man. 

“Why didn’t you call the police?!” John yelled, red anguish flashing in front of his vision, making it nearly impossible to see Sherlock clearly. “Why do you never call the police?!”

“Well, uh, it’s no use now.”

Rushing forward towards Sherlock, John exclaimed once again. “ So you can’t switch the bomb off? So you can’t switch the bomb off and you didn’t call the police.”

Suddenly, a realization washed over Sherlock. Knowing there were only two ways out of this situation, living and dying, and he figured they would most likely be doing the latter. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t die alone. 

“Go John,” Sherlock murmured, emotions he never knew he had filling his voice. “Go now.”

Angrily John pointed towards the compartments’ end. “There’s no point now, is there, because there’s not enough time to get away; and if we don’t do this…” John began with an incredulous sigh, “Other people will die!”

John’s mind begins to race, then suddenly an idea sprung into his brain. 

“Mind palace.” John said simply. 

Confused, Sherlock replied, “Hmm?”

“Use your Mind Palace!” John said, eagerly trying to push Sherlock to do something, anything, to get them out of this situation.

“How will that help?” Sherlock says dumbly, desperately trying to reach out to John to let him know that he’s here, that he isn’t going to be alone this time.

This time. 

“You’ve salted away every fact under the sun!” John exclaimed, desperately trying to get Sherlock on the same page he was. How come his mind was working, but the mastermind, THE Sherlock Holmes’ mind was not?

“Oh, and you think I’ve just got “How to Defuse a Bomb” tucked away in there somewhere? 

“Yes!”

Sherlock takes a few moments and begins to process the entire idea. 

“Maybe.” He murmurs, bringing his fingers to the sides of his face and screwing his eyes shut.

“Think.” John pushes, forcing the intensity on Sherlock harder and harder. Sherlock only lifts his head and a little, still concentrating, still searching his Mind Palace for the answer no one else has.

“Think. Please think.” John says softly, losing the little bit of hope he has left. Sherlock begins to groan under the pressure, unsure of where to look. 

“Think!” John yells anxiously, now stepping on both feet trying to findthe answer himself. Sherlock’s hands come away from his face and flail, while his eyes remain closed and continues to make groaning noises. John closes his eyes, shaking his head as the noises get louder and finally Sherlock lets out a loud cry and opens his eyes. John can’t help but let the curious side of him think that what he must be like when he orgasms.

Sherlock breathes heavily for a moment, then he lowers his hands and looks at John with a blank expression, unknowing of any answer that could save theirs or thousands of other lives Looking at John, he apologizes through his eyes, sending the words he could never say towards him. He gets back only a look of disbelief and shock.

“Oh my God.” John whispers, knowing his life must be ending because he sure is in hell. John turns away, whilst Sherlock tears his scarf from around his neck and doubles over, burying his head in his hands, still making incoherent groaning noises. He drops to his knees next to the bomb while John wanders away from Sherlock down the carriage. 

“This is it.” John whispers once again, staring off into the black lighted tunnel. Meanwhile, Sherlock is flailing uselessly over the bomb.

“Um, er…” Sherlock murmurs, but John just stops and stares into space, realizing what is about to happen to the both of them.

“Oh my God.” John states, knowing now, that this is the end of the line, that he must get it all out in the open before he bursts with uncontrollable . John turns back towards the man now only bearing his shirt, frantically patting around the device and muttering to himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispers, barely audible, screwing his eyes shut again. 

“What?”

“I can’t…” Sherlock began, barely holding back the tears. John always knew how to bring the human out in him. “I can’t do it, John. I don’t know how.”

Sherlock stood, wobbling on his legs as he did. How could he not get them out of this? John’s blood is on his hands; its his fault that now John must die because he dragged him back into this line of work. These cases, he had always known, would be the death of him, but never had he expected John to go down with him. Looking back at the device, he scrambled over to it and felt it up once more. Thats when he found it. Standing back up, he looked into John’s eyes with apologetic ones letting tears out against their owners orders. “Forgive me?” he pleaded.

“What?” John forced out tightly, furiously. How could “The Great Sherlock Holmes” not know how to do this one thing? This one damn thing? 

Sherlock brought his hands up, into a praying position. “Please, John, forgive me for all the hurt I’ve caused you…”

Suddenly rejection and disbelief filled his lungs, forcing him to exhale out. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick.” John said smiling, pointing a finger toward Sherlock, waving it.  
“No.” Sherlock simply stated, his words drenched in remorse and utter regret, topped with Sherlock choking back a sob.

“Another one of your bloody tricks.”

“No.”

“You’re just trying to make me say something nice.”

Sherlock began chuckling, a tightness in his voice. “Not this time.”

“It’s just to make you look good even though you behaved like…” John grimaces, fighting back tears. He turns away as he tries to steady his breathing. Sherlock moves away from the bomb and sits on the edge of one of the nearby seats. John grips a handrail, looking down at the floor. John knew he had to let it out now; he couldn’t allow Sherlock to die without him knowing. He stamps his foot in frustration, his voice is low but savage when he speaks, changing what he was originially going to say, “I wanted you to not be dead.”

“Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for.” Sherlock replies as John sighs. John has made his decision, opening his mouth to speak, he was cut off by Sherlock’s ramblings.

“If I hadn’t come back, you wouldn’t be standing there and... “ Sherlock pauses, fumbling with his hands and allowing himself to finally feel the emotions he’d been suppressing for all these years. John bared his teeth, turning away and shaking his head. “...you’d still have a future… with Mary.”

“Yeah. I know. “ He grimaces, realizing it was now or never. “But what if I never wanted that?”

Looking up at him with shimmering eyes filled with tears, Sherlock wasn’t sure he’d heard his friend, his best friend. “What?” he spoke, for some reason, hope igniting in the hollows of his heart.

“Look. I find it difficult, this sort of stuff.-”

“I know.” Sherlock replied, not sure of what his partner meant.

John blows out breath from his lungs filled with the intoxicating air of Sherlock Holmes. Lowering his head, he straightens up and looks at Sherlock, dead in the eyes. 

John speaks, his voice not more than a whisper. “You were the best and wisest man… that I have ever known.” John sighs as he looks at a wide-eyed Sherlock who can’t piece together this puzzle John has thrown at him and its beginning to frustrate him, but that tiny bit of hope in his heart begins to grow immensely. “Yes, of course, I forgive you. I forgive you, because.. because.. because dear God Sherlock, I love you. I have loved you since our very first case we worked together with the obnoxiously pink lady. I have loved you since I looked into those bloody blue eyes of yours, and now that we’re dying… now that we’re gonna die… I figured you should know, that it was always you. I have always loved you, I just wish I had told you sooner.” 

A silence ensues as John closes his eyes, preparing himself for the laughter. However, as soon as he closed his eyes he hears the quick shuffling of familiar feet, then suddenly a hand caressed his face. John’s eyes shot open, and immediately the clear blues of Sherlock’s were staring back at him. Sherlock tensed, his hand stopping. “Am I.. Not doing it right..?” Sherlock whispered.

“No. You’re doing it perfectly.” John purred, taking his own hand and pressing it against his cheek, craving Sherlock’s touch, craving, aching for Sherlock. Taking Sherlock’s hand, he pressed it against his pelvis, John moaning from the touch, Sherlock muttering curses underneath his breath. 

“Why now? Why now after all this time?” Sherlock inquired, his hand still positioned on the other man’s hardening groin. 

“Because I thought we’d have more time. I was going to call the wedding off with Mary, because I realized I didn’t love her. I realized I loved you during the bloody engagement where I nearly killed you. She was only a bookmark, Sherlock, you are the whole damn book.”

Sherlock smiled, and pulled John against his chest. “If I’m not mistaken, this is how normal people fall in love right?”

John smiled as a tear rolled down his cheek, half horny half wanting to cuddle the man in front of him. “I do believe so, Sherlock, I believe so.”

Sherlock bent down, releasing John’s crotch and using his hand he drew John closer by his chin, brushing his lips against Johns. The next thing John knew was that he had Sherlock kissing him, and him deepening the kiss so each man fought for dominance, but eventually (and to John’s happiness), Sherlock won. Their tongues tangoed and danced along each other’s teeth, exploring each other’s mouths and aching for each other; to have more of each other. 

Then, all of a sudden, John pulled back from Sherlock with a realization. The bomb!

“Sherlock, the bomb…”

Out of nowhere, Sherlock begins maniacally laughing and crying from laughter. When what had happened just then hit John, he punched Sherlock square in the jaw. “You bastard! I thought we were going to die!”

Sherlock smiled a mischievous smile. “I thought you loved me. Looks like I was right. Again.”

A scuffle of feet far from them makes the two men straighten and Sherlock put on his clothes again. “For the record, I didn’t lie.” Sherlock whispers into John’s ear with a smile pulling at his cheeks. “I don’t know how to diffuse a bomb, but I do know that they have an off switch.”

Leaning forward, Sherlock pecked John on the lips and went to talk to the footsteps hurriedly approaching them both, which John figured it must be the police. Of course, John thought, Sherlock really did know everything. With a smirk, he jumped down from the compartment, careful to not touch the active rails, and went off to join his new partner.


End file.
